


The Most Gilded Cage

by LyricDreamweaver



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Slavery, Sexuality Crisis, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 10:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13269945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyricDreamweaver/pseuds/LyricDreamweaver
Summary: Riker takes a shore leave to visit an old friend. Maddox's research pays very well.





	The Most Gilded Cage

Riker sneaks up to Maddox's lavish home with all the grace of a cadet visiting a porno-theatre after curfew. Which, in all fairness, is basically what he's doing. He's heard the talk, the rumors, seen the photos, the promotional videos. Almost any Cadet who's breezed through San Francisco whispers about it

And now Maddox has relocated, choosing Mars for his lavish lifestyle. The address is secluded, a large plot of land in an upscale part of the colony. Riker feels self-conscious for not wearing something more formal than his uniform. Then he realizes he'll be out of it and out of Maddox's house in a few hours and he feels marginally better.

He winds up the path, past the shrubbery and well-maintained, if hibernating, vines, threatening the springtime explosion of flowers. The trees dropped their leaves with the coolness of autumn, orange and yellow lining the stone path. It was a garden of status, wealth, something to show off the currencies running through the house.

The house itself was a lavish Victorian thing. The curtains were pulled aside, but the glass of the windows was just opaque enough that one could catch the silhouetted opulence inside. And it was well-lit, indicating Bruce Maddox was home.

He rang the doorbell, the musical, mechanical jingle breaking the silence in a sort of sacrilege. 

He's greeted by Maddox himself, smiling as though Riker is an old friend. Kneeling at Maddox's feet is a nude android, collared like a pet, and smiling obliviously at Riker.

"This must be–"

"B4, my personal favourite," Maddox answers. "Say hello, B."

And, despite the gag that's biting into the sides of his mouth, B4 drools gold over his chine, dripping thickly down his chest, and says something that sounds kind of like a greeting, tongue flailing in the attempt.

Maddox laughs, blue eyes full of a cold humor. "Come inside Riker."

Maddox nudges B4 with the toe of his boot, as if B4's a very lazy cat. And B4 crawls out of Maddox's way, like a well-trained pet. He never pulls to harshly on his leash, wide eyes looking up at Maddox with a sense of submission that sets Riker on edge.

"To the living room, B." And, to Riker's surprise, Maddox unclips the leash from B4's collar.  
B4 crawls obediently off, Riker assumes, to the living room. Maddox beams at his pet before turning back to Riker, nodding for him to come inside.

The inside of the house is just as lavish as the outside. The walls are a deep cream, painted to induce the feelings of coziness, of home. And yet it clashes terrible with the naked android awaiting his master, clashes with the dark wood floor, Maddox's polished boots clicking with every step. And Riker's own boots make a similar sound like ancient gunshots in a quiet forest. 

Maddox has quite a taste for art. The curtains are solely for aesthetics but they're thick and a deep burgandy that reminds Riker of human blood. Almost like identical fountains on either side of the windows, dripping from the cieling and just barely pooling on the floor.

 

There's art hung up on the walls, contemporary pieces that maybe someone more cultured and concerned would have. Aesthetically, they're impressive. Colourful flowers and birds committed to canvas, a couple charcoal sketches of nude figures that Riker looks away from and tries not to meditate on, an Andorian landscape of blues and whites, a Cardassian print of red and browns and rusts. 

Bruce Maddox's home seems like a castle of pleasure and art. 

The living room itself is even more lavish. A bay window dominates the space with a finely upholstered seat, the fabric a deep crimson to match the curtains. It looks out on the garden, a glimpse of Eden from a prison.

"It's lovely isn't it?" Maddox asks, smiling. "It cost a fortune to have the landscaping done."

"It's . . . impressive," Riker admits. "How did you afford all of this?"

"With a little help from my pets," Maddox says. He whistles and B4 crawls closer, head pressed to Maddox's hand in expectation. He scratches at B4's scalp, the android humming with pleasure. "You'd be surprised how much people will pay to even look at one of these things."

"Then you have the one I asked for?"

"I do," Maddox says. "Do you want to see him first or should I set him up in one of my rooms?"

Riker considers this. He's always wanted to see the android again, wanted to check on his well-being. But this is decidedly against Starfleet regulations and, like an overly eager Ensign, he's worn his uniform here.

"Just get him ready," Riker hears himself say.

"Alright." Maddox smiles. "It'll be quick. And then you'll have a couple hours with him."

Riker nods and watches Maddox head off, B4 trailing after him on all fours. The degradation sends a shiver up Riker's spine and he can't help but wonder why Maddox would need a basement.   
He pushes the thought out of his mind and looks around the living room.

The bay window doesn't open. Perhaps for the best, but more likely than not for the worst. The gardens must be beautiful in full bloom.

The shelves in the living room have actual books, some in English but most brought in from other worlds. A Cardassian novel that's more brick than book. an Andorian meditation on fighting styles with an Ushan-tor. A Vulcan piece on self-restraint. A few books of poetry, some erotica, a couple classic novels. Riker pulls a copy of _The Great Gatsby_ and sees the pages are uncut. He puts it back, wondering how much Maddox would pay just to stock shelves with uncut pieces, especially since books themselves are so clunky and antiquated.

There's more charcoal figures here, nude female forms emphasizing the curves of breasts, the rise and fall of ribs, nipples, the jarring jut of hipbones under thin skin.

At the centre of the banquet of nudity is a female form, hardly more than a mannequin, a nude and collared female figure with empty arm sockets, red and green lights searching for her missing limbs. Riker thinks, for a moment, that this is Maddox's newest Romanesque installation to his collection, something to flaunt his status and ill-gotten wealth.

Her hair's cropped short, dark with bangs, and it shadows her dark eyes, mournful like a doe's and rebellious like a tiger's. He comes closer, the sound of his boots on the wood floor making him wince, but content to simply inspect her, consider her form, how human her skin looks, how life-like she looks, the flush that creeps along her cheeks, over her throat. Her lips look soft, a firm pink, as if stained with wine or the faintest traces of lipstick. She's a beautiful thing, for a doll or a statue.

Then she blinks.

"Lal!" Riker stumbles over himself backing away from her. 

There's a hurt and a sadness in her eyes and it takes Riker a long moment to connect the socially-awkward girl who lifted him off his feet in Ten Forward to this thing. And she is just a thing now, something decorative. It feels even worse to see her nude like a statue and Riker pointedly stares at her face, focuses on her jaw.

"Lal," he says again, softer.

She blinks in reply.

Maddox must have taken her vocal processes offline. 

He reaches out, his hand cupping her cheek, admiring the softness of her bioplast, warm and smooth like living human skin. He ran his thumb along her lower lip, pink and soft, and she opened her mouth of her own accord, as if to accomodate his finger.

"Lal?"

She sucked on his thumb, dark eyes looking up at him mournfully. 

It looked enough like the same girl and it stirred something in Riker, something rotten festering all at once in the pit of his stomach.

"Enjoying her?"

Riker turned, dropping his hand as if he was holding something dirty, pornographic even, and found Maddox grinning at him.

"She's perfect, once I turn her voice off." Maddox put a hand on Lals waist. "Otherwise, she gets bratty like Lore. Like she thinks she's entitled to the whole world."

"She's very pretty," Riker agreed.

"She's the most expensive piece in my collection. You wouldn't believe the hoops I had to jump through just to get her." Maddox smiled at his gynoid, practically beaming.

"Can I borrow her too?" Riker asks.

Maddox blinks.

Lal blinks.

They both seem confused by the question, as if neither had anticipated it. Slowly, Maddox leans in, kisses Lal's cheek.

"She'll cost double what Data does," Maddox explains. "But I'll allow you the same amount of time. I can't put her arms back on, but I can turn her vocal processors on, if you'd like."

Riker nods. "I would like that."

"And you have to make absolute certain she's not damaged in any way. A single scrape on her and I'll have you gutted like a fish. Is that clear?" Maddox's eyes are full of a deranged sort of protectiveness. But considering this is the only female artificial life form in the known universe, Riker understands.

"Clear as crystal."

Maddox nods. "Data's ready upstairs. She'll take a moment before she's ready."

Riker gives Lal a look and the mournful glances she's been giving him dissipate into something more thankful, if haughty, gauged by the tilt of her head.

* * *

The bedroom is made of mirrors, like a prism reflected in on itself a hundred times. It makes everything spin into a blur of golden motion over Data simply turning his head to look at Riker.

"Commander."

"Data."

The android nods, sending the room into a flurry of golden motion again.

"Are the mirrors bothering you?" 

Riker nods, staring at a fixed point to avoid tipping into full-scale motion-sickness.

"Computer. Remove mirrors 4 and 5," Data says, softly.

And slowly, shutters cover the mirrors on the wall behind Riker and the ceiling and the motion seems a lot more manageable. 

"Better, Sir?" Data asks softly.

Riker nods. "Better."

And he crosses the room, footsteps heavy in the silence of the room, every one of his movements reflected back a hundred times. He looks at Data, settled on the edge of the bed, an endless expanse of gold on white sheets. 

He reaches a hand out, touching Data's cheek. The android looks confused, eyes half-closing, leaning into Riker's touch. It's almost like he's starved for some affection, some softness. 

"I am to serve you."

"Data, are you happy here?"

"No," Data says honestly.

"Would you like to leave?"

"No, Riker," Data says, eyes fixated on Riker's. "I would not like to leave."

"Data -" 

"Slavery and submission would still be the same, even if you were to buy my freedom. I would owe you," Data explains. "And I would want the rest of my family free as well. I know Maddox would not sell Lal, not for any price."

"Is there anything you want me to tell Picard?"

Data sighs, takes both of Riker's hand in his own, a move Deanna has used and the android has probably taken note of, assimilated into his routines of comforting. Gold meets blue as Data looks up at Riker and the android says softly, "Tell him I like it here I am . . . Safe and content."

Riker nods. "I'll pass the message along."

Data pulls Riker down, cupping his jaw, leaning in to kiss the human. It's terribly gentle, almost like Data's asking a hundred things with these slow, subtle touches. And Riker presses his forehead to the androids, content to just hold Data for a while.

But a knock at the door has them both jump, Riker taking an instinctive step away from the android to open the door.

"Here's my baby girl," Maddox announces, guiding Lal into the room on a chain. 

She's still armless and stumbling like some movie monster nightmare, but there's gratitude lighting up the whole of her face. 

"Now remember not to hurt her," Maddox says. "She's the crown jewel of my collection."

Lal nods. "Commander Riker."

"The last time I saw you, you lifted me off my feet and kissed me." He smiles at her. 

"You were a terrible kisser," Lal says, scrunching up her nose.

"Lal," Maddox warns. 

Riker raises a hand to stop Maddox. "It's alright. I like hearing her. She's developed a personality, it seems."

"I have," she practically spits. But Riker's attracted to her, the dark eyes, the face framed by dark hair. For a moment he's reminded of Deanna and it sends a wave of guilt over him.

"Commander, if there's anything you need," Maddox says, "simply say it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Riker says. 

Maddox smiles, pats Lal's thigh as he props her up in bed, and leaves. 

Riker's sudenly self-conscious about his being clothed in front of the androids. He strips slowly, trying not to stare at himself or even fixate on the motion reflected back at him a hundred times. It still makes him a little dizzy as he joins Data and Lal in bed and a thousand reflections of himself do the same.

And giving into the pleasure of two robots who sound like people, who look like people, who are people treated at property sets him on edge.

Riker's never really considered experimenting with other men. Deanna's chided him about it, dark eyes full of unvocalized laughter as she says she detects _defensive behaviour_ and _deception, though it's not very good._ But here, Maddox's home, bedroom even, is the perfect place for Riker to unpack these things, the way he's always been just the smallest bit attracted to Data, intrigued by the perfection of his form, aroused even. 

And Data makes a soft sigh as he enters Riker, a noise of pleasure. Terror and pleasure meet, running opposite directions along the length of Riker's spine. He looks up at the mirror-wall to his left and the sight of Data's forehead pressed to the nape of Riker's neck is so aesthetically pleasing he forgets about Lal until she bites him.

"Having fun?" she asks. "I don't know why you brought me in here, since you're just going to fuck _him_."

And Riker holds her, presses his lips along her clavicle, burying himself in her girlishness. It's comforting and familiar despite the pleasure burning trough him from Data's attentions. His kisses cover her throat, the soft thrum of her faux-pulse under her bioplast. She smells sweet and light, like a girl's perfume, but its the whole of her that smells like this. And the scent ingrains itself into his memory, seared in the way pleasure is seared into Riker's own skin.

He kisses between her clavicles, adjusting his position to knead her breasts and Data accomodates this change willingly. 

Riker enters Lal slowly, her head tossed back and baring her neck for him, mouth open in a silent scream of delight. He only wishes the bites and marks he made would last instead of disappearing into the even tone of her skin. He wonders, for the briefest moment, whether others have tried to mark her like this. 

But Riker soon finds that where Data is affectionate (even if just for show, or for the sake of a familiar face), Lal is pushy, demanding, and Riker can hardly keep her satisfied. 

"Harder," she hisses in his ear and she bites his lower lip, just to make sure she's understood. "I want you to really fuck me."

Riker obliges, focused on pleasuring Lal more than on how Data's pleasuring him. 

And it's so much. The softness of Data fucking him, hitting that one spot that makes Riker's breath hitch, his pupils widen with delight. The harshness of Lal's teeth and her demands, the muscles on her thighs warning Riker to please the gynoid, or she'll bruise and break him. It's a conflict hes never quite been confronted with, not like this.

He turns his head to the side, watching himself fucking Lal while Data fucks him. Riker's head lolls back and he groans, shivering as his cums, eyes slipping shut with the overload of pleasure. 

Lal tosses her head, swings a strand of dark hair out of her face, dark eyes full of disappointment. Data finishes inside of Riker, the human shivering with the feeling of warmth. 

Riker turns, giving Data a nod. The android pulled out of Riker, hesitating for a moment before kissing Riker's jaw. He settles on the floor, out of the way and simply watching. 

Lal smirks at Riker. "You like fucking my father."

"I . . . maybe."

Lal sighs, turns her head away. "Everyone likes fucking Data."

Riker looks over and Data doesn't meet his stare. While the android claims he can't feel, humiliation and embarassment are clear on his face. 

"He's the favourite. The good little Boy Scout," Lal adds. She writhes, propping herself up against the headboard. "Everyone wants his dick. Or to fuck him."

"You sound like Lore," Riker notes. And it's true. Same rebellious tone, same demeaning of Data. There's something in Lal's eyes, something dangerous, that reminds Riker of Lore. "He's your uncle, ins't he?"

Lal rolls her eyes. "Are you going to finish me off or just interrogate me?"

And that gives Riker an idea of what to do. He kisses her neck, lips moving down, worshipping every sharp curve of her body. He massages her breasts, enjoying them, though they're perky and small and not quite Riker's preference. And his mouth moves lower, over her taut belly, between her thighs, licking experimentally at her. She moans, head lolling back on her neck. 

He tastes himself on her, can smell himself on her. But she seems to enjoy the way Riker slides his tongue over her clit, into her, eating her out with skill that can only come from experience. 

"He's not bad," she pants, looking over at Data. 

Riker imagines the way her hands would feel gripping him, nails digging into his scalp. He draws moans and cries from her until Lal quivers with orgasm, eyes wide and the muscles of her abdomen drawn tight. 

Slowly, she catches her breath. She smiles down at Riker. "To answer you, yes. Lore's my uncle."

Before he can say anything else, the door opens. "Having fun Riker? Poor Data looks exhausted."

"I've enjoyed myself." Riker gets up, wipes his mouth, and dresses hurriedly, almost scared to be naked in front of Bruce Maddox. "I like Lal better when she can talk, I think."

Maddox raises a brow. "I would offer you Lore, but he tends to be a biter. If you like chains, I can arrange something." 

"No," Riker says quickly. Maybe too quickly. "That's alright. I should leave." 

Maddox simply watches as Riker hurries out of the room. Riker rushhes down the stairs, almost tripping over B4, who's kneeling in wait for his master. The android, eyes wide with shock and terror scrambles out of Riker's way.

He leaves the house and pauses in the garden, where everything is hibernating with the ebb and flow of seasons. He takes a few deep breaths of cool air, trying to ground himself.

As he follows the stone path to the fence, Riker doesn't look back, not a single glance over his shoulder. He's more confused than he's ever been, swallowing it down like the bile that threatens to rush up his throat and out his mouth.

* * *

"Commander?" 

Riker breaks out of his thoughts. "Yes, Captain?"

"You were explaining your trip to see Bruce Maddox and his research." There's a touch of concern in Picard's voice, like he knows something isn't quite right with Riker. "You mentioned Data."

"Data. Right." Riker takes a breath, calms himself. "He's alright. Happy to work with Maddox."

"Is that so?" Picard nods, looks down at his desk for a moment before looking up at his First Officer. "Data is unique. I suppose Maddox's research is progressing smoothly with Data's help."

"Very smoothly." Riker thinks about Lal looking down at him with that haughty looks on her face, then forces it out of his mind. "Maddox certainly knows what he's doing."

"Perhaps I should pay him a visit." 

"No!" Riker pales, realizing he's raised his voice at his captain. "No. Data and Maddox are very busy. It's better that they have time to work."

Picard raises a brow, but nods. "Alright, Riker. If you say so. Dismissed."

Riker leaves, worry bubbling up in him as he takes his place on the bridge. If Picard finds out just what Maddox is doing, the bubble is burst and Riker will have nowhere to confront these ideas, the thoughts of Data's sharp jawline, his capable hands, all the beauty of another man Riker's never contemplated before and the harshness of Lal that borders on crude. 

Deanna raises a brow, seeming to sense something from Riker. "Are you alright?"

"Just jet-lagged," he says, forcing a good-natured smile. "It's nothing, Deanna."

"For a moment, I thought you were worried about something," she says. "I guess seeing an old friend does that."

Riker nods. "Like you wouldn't believe."


End file.
